


It Does Not Do to Dwell on Dreams

by blanketed_in_stars



Series: 52 Weeks of Wolfstar [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1980, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketed_in_stars/pseuds/blanketed_in_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would he do, Remus wonders, if Sirius weren't there when he wakes up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Does Not Do to Dwell on Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Week 2

Many times, Remus dreams about his childhood. Occasionally he has good dreams of those days: a taste of Drooble's blowing gum, a ride on his father's broomstick, a glimpse of the stars from a high treetop. More often, he has nightmares.

Tonight, he streaks across a fallow field in bare feet. Behind him people are crying out, shouting spells. Jets of light streak past him. But closer, much closer than the people and their wands, is their target, the beast. Remus doesn't know exactly what it looks like, beyond having four legs, a tufted tail, and sharp, glinting teeth.

Werewolf. He knows that's what it is. The word clamors in his mind like a death knell as his feet pound the soft dirt. He feels scared, more scared than he's ever been. And tired. He's at least three miles from home and the beast shows no signs of slowing. But Remus is only eight years old and although he's one of the quickest boys in wizarding Tintern, he's exhausted.

Finally, finally, after measureless minutes or hours of searing lungs and burning legs, he stumbles over a moonlit rock. In some dark miracle, fear gave him wings, and now he has outrun the adults. He is alone—alone with the beast.

He barely has time to get to his knees before it's upon him with its reeking breath. That's all he knows for a moment. But then he feels claws, razor-sharp, in his flesh, and teeth tearing at him, and—and—

"Remus?"

He struggles for several wide-eyed moments, flailing in the sheets. At last he recognizes the arms reaching out to him and goes limp. The embrace they offer is welcome. Besides, he doesn't have the strength to resist.

As he holds him, Sirius asks, "Do you know where you are?"

Remus nods against his shoulder. There have been times when he hasn't.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head.

"All right."

When Remus's breathing has slowed, they lay down again, Sirius pressed against the length of Remus's back. Remus clutches at the arm flung over his side as if he's drowning.

"Maybe talking about it would help." Sirius's voice, disembodied in the darkness, isn't a whisper. He knows Remus won't fall asleep for hours.

"It won't," Remus replies, much more softly.

"You can't be sure," Sirius argues. "Doesn't it make it worse to keep it all bottled up?" His arm tightens, drawing Remus closer. "I just want to make things easier."

Remus sighs. He's right, but…

"Everything's going to hell," Sirius says in his ear. "The war, the Order, the whole world—we've all got enough making us lose sleep already. You don't need this on top of it."

Remus thinks of the doubts that have gnawed at him lately, tiny whispers in the back of his mind, making him mistrust even this man, closer to him than anyone else. He thinks of all the things he's afraid to tell him, the risk involved, the chance that he's giving information to a spy. He thinks of the distance that is already growing between them. How can he close it again?

He knows how. He can start talking.

He sighs again. "I dreamed about when I was bitten." He's never told the whole story before, not to anyone. "It happened when I was eight, when we were still living in Wales." The image of their little house rises behind his eyelids. "My father was in the yard with me; I don't remember what we were doing. He—Greyback—came out of nowhere. I was supposed to go inside and lock the doors, but I was terrified."

"What did you do?"

"I ran towards the house, but Greyback blocked my way, so I turned around and started sprinting. There were no other houses for miles, only fields and trees." He tells the rest of the dream, but when he nears the end, he finds he can't go on.

Sirius is quiet. At length, he murmurs, "You don't need to keep going if you don't want to."

"I'm fine." He isn't. But Remus can hardly believe that this is so difficult. The memory is over a decade old. He should be able to talk about it calmly, shouldn't he? "I fell. He bit me." It's the only way he can tell it, cold and bare. Anything more and he'll lose control.

Sirius seems to understand. "I'm sorry," he says into Remus's hair. "To have to relive that so often…" He shakes his head, and Remus can feel it in the way the pillow dips.

"It's usually the same dream," Remus adds after a moment or two. The words are dragged out of him, pulled by a magnet despite his reluctance.

"This one? Of when you were bitten?"

"No." Remus tries to find the right words. "Of… what I am. When I transform." Sirius is silent, waiting. "I always remember afterward. In reality, I mean. But I don't know what I'm doing while I'm—not me." A monster. "I only remember at dawn. In the dream, though, I'm still there, still conscious while it's happening. And I can _see_."

There is a long pause as Remus fights for control of his breathing. "See what?" Sirius prompts.

"The people I kill."

Sirius shifts closer, a backwards embrace. "You haven't killed anyone, love."

"In the dreams I do. I don't just bite people, I rip them up." He swallows. "I recognize everyone. Peter, James, Lily… you. " That's when the tears start, sliding noiselessly from his face to the pillow. This was why he didn't want to talk.

Sirius doesn't notice. "What do you feel?" he asks. "When you kill in the dreams. Do you want to?"

Remus can hardly bring himself to say it. "Yes," he finally gasps, almost sobs.

"Hey, hey." Sirius pulls him tight and kisses his hair. "It's not real. They're just dreams." He pauses a second, and it seems he guesses what Remus is thinking. "You're not a monster."

"Once a month I am."

"But that's not _you_ ," Sirius insists. "Listen to me." He tugs on Remus's shoulder until he rolls around so that they're facing each other. In the dark bedroom his eyes are only a glint of silver. "You're the best man I know. You're kind and funny and smart and, Merlin's beard, Remus, you're damn sexy."

A startled huff of laughter bursts from him.

"You'd never harm any of us. You've never even come close to biting anyone. In the dreams, during the full moon—you're not really there. You couldn't be." He says it so faithfully, so lovingly, that Remus has no choice but to believe him. "You're human; that's all there is to it."

"I know," Remus mumbles. He knows. Nightmares and horrible worries, nothing more.

Sirius wraps him up in his arms and presses kisses to his forehead, his nose, his lips. "I love you," he whispers, and again: "I love you."

Remus smiles. "Love you, too." The terror is receding, and exhaustion replaces it with a suddenness that drags his eyelids down. He curls forward into Sirius's warmth and lets sleep—and safety—take him.


End file.
